


The Gambler

by der_tanzer



Series: Protective Custody [11]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinlan always knows when to hold 'em.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gambler

**Author's Note:**

> Tag for Oil Bets are Off, with minor spoilers.  
> 

"Are you sure you don't want me to go to the funeral with you?" Quinlan asked, handing Murray a cup of tea.

"No, you'd better not. You didn't know J.J., so I think it'd look funny, you going just to be with me."

"But you don't want to go alone."

"Cody and Nick are going. They don't—didn't—know him either, but we live together so it's different. I always introduce them to my friends." He sipped his tea without interest and set the cup aside. "I wish you were that kind of friend, Ted, I really do…"

"But I ain't. Not if I want to keep my job." He sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table next to Murray's cup.

"You're going to keep insulting me in public, aren't you?"

"If I have to. You know that the truth is what I say in private. You know I love you. But out on the street is different."

"Yes, I know." He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself tightly. His body didn't relax even when Quinlan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but the lieutenant held him anyway.

"It's gonna be all right, kid. You still got plenty of friends. You're not alone."

"No, I know that," Murray whispered. "But J.J. was special. Just like Bradley Stivers was special. My friends aren't hamsters, Ted. They're not interchangeable."

"Yeah, I know. But what else can I say? I'm no good at this shit. If you're real lucky, when I die, you'll have someone better to comfort you."

Murray seemed to wilt at that and then started to shake. Mentally cursing himself, Ted pulled him closer and Murray twisted in his arms, pressing his face to the lieutenant's chest.

"Said the wrong thing again, didn't I?" he asked, cradling Murray's head in one broad hand. "Told you I'm no good at this."

"You're great," Murray whispered. "So long as you don't talk about dying."

***

Murray was thinking about those words when they met Quinlan on the street after Michael Harris was murdered. There was nothing of his lover in the cocky, belligerent cop who insulted him and refused to let him speak. He couldn't help snapping back, but it embarrassed him to argue with Ted in public, and he fled before it could go too far.

Throughout the remainder of the investigation, Murray kept his distance from Ted, only meeting him in public, with his friends around. He could hardly tell the lieutenant about forging bank records, cheating on the gambling ship, breaking into the post office, or any of the other things he and his friends did over the next couple of days. Nor did he ask Ted what the police were doing, for fear that comparing notes might make it too difficult for him to keep his secrets.

They didn't get together again until it was over. Murray had his celebration with Nick and Cody and Juliet, and then took the last slice of apple pie over to Quinlan's. Ted looked surprised when he opened the door and saw Murray standing there, still dressed his jeans and pale red t-shirt, a light overshirt protecting his arms from the sun, and a foil covered plate in his hand.

"So, you're still speaking to me, huh?" It was a joke, but he sounded relieved as he stepped aside and let Murray in.

"Why wouldn't I be? Here, I brought you pie. Juliet Hafner made it herself."

"She didn't make it for me," he said, but he took the plate anyway. There was coffee brewing in the kitchen and Murray followed him that way.

"It was a thank you gift for helping to find her father's killer. You were part of that."

"Not much of one. King Harbor hardly needs cops with you guys around to solve all the crimes," he snorted. "You want some coffee?"

"Please." He sat down at the table and tried to think of a way to get the conversation back on track. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what we were doing. You'd have been obligated to stop us, and you'd get into trouble if you didn't. The guys wanted me to try and enlist your help, but there was nothing you could have done. You have professional ethics to uphold."

"And you don't. That's not a question," he added, putting a coffee cup in front of Murray and turning back to get his own. "I ain't complaining about anything you did. Hafner was your friend and you had to find out why he died. Which isn't to say I couldn't have figured it out, but it would have taken a lot longer."

"And I wouldn't have gotten to wear my tuxedo."

"You wore a tux and I didn't get to see it?"

"Sorry. Maybe we can do something fancy—but macho—sometime and I'll wear it for you. I think I looked pretty good, even if I do say so myself."

"I bet you did."

"So, if you're not upset about any of those things, why didn't I hear from you?" Murray asked, running his finger along the rim of his cup.

"Didn't figure you'd want to. Not after the way I talked to you that first day. And I wasn't much help when those thugs snatched Allen, either."

"You said those things you because people were watching. We've already been over that. And Nick told me what you said after I left. That I might not walk well, but I have guts. I can see past the insult, Lieutenant." He drank some coffee and waited for a reply.

"Lucky for me. Murray, I don't—well—I'm just glad you're here. I'm still not sure I deserve it, but I'm glad anyway."

"I'm not sure you deserve it, either," Murray said, smiling just a little. "But sometimes I get this incredible urge to seek comfort from the least comforting person I know, and that's you."

"So is there any part of that that isn't an insult?"

Murray's smile widened into something real and honest.

"All of it. I mean, Nick and Cody have been great, but there's such a thing as too much sympathy, you know? And they have their own problems. They go back and forth between hurting too much on my behalf and forgetting all about it. It's just—it's hard, I guess. Am I making any sense at all?"

"About as much as usual," Quinlan said, dryly. "But I understand. You're a grown man and men don't want a lot of pity. They forget that, don't they?"

"Not always," he said, defending his friends, as always. "But sometimes. I feel like Radar O'Reilly to their Hawkeye and Trapper, you know? I'm both the child and the pet they never had."

"Yeah, I like Radar, too. You want some more coffee?"

"I'll get it." Murray took both cups and refilled them, but instead of returning to the table, he just stood there, resting one hip against the edge of the counter. After a moment, Quinlan heard a muffled sniffle and turned around in his chair.

"Hard to decide which you want to be sometimes, isn't it?" he asked gently.

"I don't know what I am today," Murray agreed. He swiped at his eyes, trying to be subtle, trying to be more man than child or pet, and it tore at Quinlan's heart. Normally he tried to let the kid have his dignity, but the last couple of weeks had been unusually miserable and Murray had bigger concerns than pride. Quinlan touched his arm, let his fingers trail down to Murray's hand, and gripped it firmly. With very little encouragement, Murray half-turned and sank into his lap, let Ted remove his glasses, and wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders. Vaguely embarrassed, he hid his face against Quinlan's neck and tried to decide how quickly he could leave without being rude. But before he made up his mind, Quinlan was hugging him, sliding his hands under Murray's shirt and rubbing his bony back gently.

"It's okay, kid," he murmured. "You go on and cry if you need to. I won't think less of you."

"Like you could," Murray laughed through a sob. Ted squeezed him harder, saying nothing, and after a few moments Murray was crying in earnest, letting out the tears he had hidden so successfully from his friends. Quinlan let it go on until the skinny man was gasping for breath, shivering with release and beginning to loosen his hold, ready to escape. It reminded Ted of post-orgasmic Murray, and in spite of the tears and gut-wrenching sorrow, he found himself becoming aroused.

"You feeling better?" he asked, lifting one hand to the back of Murray's neck.

"I'm fine. I—I'm sorry I lost it like that." He started to rise and Ted held onto him.

"Where're you going?" he teased, pulling Murray's head back and kissing him. Murray tensed slightly, then relaxed into the kiss, resting his forearms on Quinlan's shoulders and nearly purring. His tears forgotten, he shifted until he was straddling Ted's thighs, leaning into the broad chest as the older man peeled off his overshirt. It was hard to make himself let go long enough to get out of his shirts, but so worth it when Quinlan sat him upright and trailed soft wet kisses from behind his ear down to his collarbones. He groaned as sharp teeth latched onto the base of his neck, arching into the sweet pain of fresh bruises.

They'd only had two nights together after Murray came home from Sunview, and then the Hafner case came along and separated them again. Quinlan understood, of course, and had nothing but sympathy for his lover's seemingly endless misfortune, but he also needed this and he suspected Murray did, too. It was the only real way he had of showing how he felt, and when it was denied them, he feared that Murray wouldn't understand.

Quinlan was constantly underestimating the number of things Murray understood. The heat of a tongue in the hollow of his throat, strong hands gripping the bare skin just above the waist of his jeans, the insistent nudge of a hard cock against his belly. Murray knew just how to interpret all of those things, and his loving heart was grateful.

He arched his back, careful not to lose the contact between his skin and Ted's lips, reaching between their bodies to unbuckle Quinlan's belt. The lieutenant gasped softly against Murray's chest as the nimble fingers worked his fly open and wrapped around his throbbing shaft. He stroked once, twice, then let go and pulled away, smiling a little at Ted's disappointed groan.

"You ain't gonna drag this out, are you?"

"No, sir. On the contrary, I want to hurry it along." He stood just long enough to get out of his pants and returned at once, dragging Quinlan's shirt off over his head. It was the warmth that he craved more than anything as he pressed against Ted's body, but when his strong hand squeezed their cocks together, Murray had no objection. He captured his lover's mouth in a kiss, deep and sweet as they thrust against each other, his arms tight around Quinlan's neck. Ted's left arm was locked around Murray's narrow waist, adding force to his rocking thrusts, venting his own pent-up energy while taking some of the strain off his exhausted partner.

Murray pulled back and bowed his head against the strong shoulder, panting his pleasure in sharp gasping moans. In this moment he was graceful, beautiful, his movements bold and sure, and Quinlan felt the blessing of being the one to hold him, coupled with a sinking feeling that he wouldn't always be. Nothing this sweet could ever really belong to him.

But he forgot that cold fear a moment later when Murray came in his hand, the sounds of his ecstasy stifled down to broken whimpers that tore Quinlan's heart in two. He nipped lightly at Murray's throat, making him raise his head again, and looked him in the eye as his own climax washed through him. What he saw in those eyes during his few seconds of total helplessness reminded him why he chose this man in the first place. There was no judgment, no fear, and no reproach. Nothing but pleasure, love, and a species of gratitude that Quinlan was certain he didn't deserve. He pulled the thin body closer, pressed Murray's head to his shoulder with one hand, and held him so tightly that neither could draw a deep breath.

Murray let it go on for a minute, then asked him, very carefully, if he was all right.

"I'm fine," he said hoarsely. "Just great. Except that I need a shower and a clean pair of pants."

"The shower sounds good, but I don't know if you really need the pants," Murray giggled, and his heart swelled up again.

"No, I probably don't. You want to spend the night, kid? Seems like you could use the company."

"You know, I really could. Things have been so crazy lately, I didn't know how much I missed you."

"Missed me?" Ted snorted, reaching for a dishtowel on the counter. "You seen me plenty."

"Not like this. I don't get to sit in your lap and cuddle and kiss you, so it's really not the same at all." He pried himself away long enough for Quinlan to wipe them clean, then snuggled close again.

They got to the shower eventually, but neither was in much of a hurry.

***

"Can I ask you about something?"

"Can I stop you?" Quinlan grinned back, sliding into bed. Murray turned on his side and propped his head up on his hand.

"Sure. And you probably will, but I have to ask anyway."

"Awright, what is it?" He tried to sound disinterested, but he was curious in spite of himself. They hadn't really talked about anything serious since the day Murray told him he was moving to Sunview, and Quinlan wondered if they were still on that, or if he was more invested in the Hafner drama now.

Murray's actual question came as a complete surprise.

"How did you know I'd say yes?" he asked quietly. "The first time we slept together, you didn't exactly ask me if I was interested. What made you so sure I'd go along?"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. I mean, what if I'd said no? We were going to be there for another week. It could have been really awkward."

"You give a lot away, kiddo. You as good as told me you were into guys and didn't have a boyfriend. I knew you wouldn't say no, but if you did, I'd've pretended it was a misunderstanding."

"Okay, so you knew I wanted _someone_. How did you know I'd want _you_? I was sure surprised that you wanted me."

"What does it matter now?" Quinlan shrugged. "It worked out all right, didn't it?"

"It matters because I want to know. Do I give off a signal or something? Was I leading you on?"

"Oh yeah, that was it. You were such a tease, I couldn't resist."

"Ted," he sighed, his tone somewhere between exhausted and flattered.

"I told you before, I went up there with you because I wanted to nail you. If you'd said no, I'd have stopped. But I knew you wouldn't. You and me both know you weren't in any shape to say no to anyone."

"You _planned_ to take advantage of me?"

"Yeah, I guess you could look at it that way," he said quietly. Suddenly he was having a hard time meeting Murray's eyes. "I knew you were—vulnerable—but I was watching pretty close. If you'd resisted at all, I'd have stopped. I wasn't gonna force you. But I wanted you and that was my best shot. I had to take it."

"I didn't know you were such a gambler. What would you have thought if I'd used you that way? What if I hadn't ever gone back to you after we came home? If you liked me so much, why weren't you worried about that?"

"I _was_ worried about it. That's why I ignored you first."

Murray remembered what he'd said months ago, _I'd be damned if I'd give you a chance to dump me_, and chuckled softly. "I can't believe you ever got anyone to marry you."

"It was twenty years ago. I was a stud."

"You're still a stud," Murray smiled, stroking his chest lightly.

"And you're still a geek."

"Haven't you heard? Geeks are cool now."

"No, they ain't. But I don't need cool. That shit's for kids."

"You make me feel like a kid," Murray said, edging closer and worming his way under Ted's arm.

"Compared to me, you are," Quinlan said indulgently. "And that makes me kind of cool."

"Great, it's a win/win."

Ted kissed his forehead softly and closed his eyes. He was a bigger gambler than Murray, who was a child of the sixties, could ever really understand. But you had to bet big to win big, and this prize was more than worth the risk.


End file.
